


Some Are Born Queens

by anneapocalypse



Category: Chess Pieces (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: Extra Treat, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneapocalypse/pseuds/anneapocalypse
Summary: and some are made.
Relationships: Queen/Pawn promoted to Queen (Chess)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 37
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Some Are Born Queens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/gifts).



> I was immediately inspired by your Chess prompts. I hope you enjoy this treat!

Having reached the Eighth Rank, it befits a Pawn to receive a promotion to such a rank as the Crown sees fit to bestow.

The Pawn would receive her promotion, as most do, deep behind enemy lines, and thus with little fanfare. They were camped in ruins, walls of dark stone in the fashion of the Black Dominion, who once held this domain, in another age. The Queen's Bishops had punched a hole through the ranks of the White Dominion, and the Pawn's contingent had moved in. Here the White Dominion's hold had grown thin, the Knights having ridden west toward the White Castle where the fighting rang thickest, and the battle-ravaged landscape here was desolate.

In these ruins, one high tower had fallen, upending itself upon its battlements where it fell. Only the gods knew what had felled it, the Pawn supposed. It must have been an age ago. Perhaps more. It was said the Dominions had clashed over these lands since time began. The Pawn could not say how true that was. She knew only her own loyalties, steadfast as they were, to her Queen.

And it was to her Queen that her thoughts turned, as they made camp for the night, spreading bedrolls and striking flint for a cookfire hidden within the ruined walls. The sight of black stone, crumbling though it was, raised the Pawn's spirits and put her in mind of home.

Home was many leagues away, within the borders of the Black Dominion. But it was neither long rows of troop barracks nor the cottage of her childhood that came to mind for the Pawn, that dark night—but the Queen's bed, which ofttimes in secret she had shared.

Far from home, far from her Queen, the Pawn laid down in humble surroundings for a brief sleep, before she would wake to take the watch.

The moon was up when the Pawn awoke, its white light cutting the dark through the gaps in the fallen stone as she relieved the scout on duty and took up the watch. And as she stood watch, there came a hooded figure among the ruins—a page, no doubt, with a message from the Bishops or perhaps even from the Queen herself. Having reached the Eighth Rank, the Pawn knew her promotion to be imminent.

What rank would be granted her? To be a Bishop, moving slantwise through the lands, to strike the enemy at angles and at great speed? To be a Knight, perhaps, a tactical master upon horseback? Or even a Rook, striking straightways and directly. Any position to serve her Queen would be an honor.

"Hark, good page," the Pawn began, and then the hood fell away and moonlight glanced upon the page's face, and the Pawn was left speechless.

The Queen wore none of her royal finery, and had covered her resplendent black hair with a hood, which now fell to reveal regal features dark as midnight, and more beautiful. The Pawn dropped by instinct to one knee, as it was only right to do in company, even if most of them slept unawares. "Your Majesty."

"Rise," said the Black Queen, and the Pawn obeyed.

"You came yourself," she said, daring to meet her Queen's eyes.

"I ride to battle," the Queen replied. "The White King has slipped the Castle and moves east."

"The King!"

"It is why I sent you here."

"Then we have a chance to finish this."

"Yes. But that is not all." The Queen reached into her cloak, and it puzzled the Pawn to wonder why she had brought with her a circlet cast of some blackest metal that gleamed under the moonlight. "I knew you would have ascended to the Eighth Rank by the time I arrived here."

The Pawn's breath caught in her throat. "Onyx—"

"If you would please kneel."

The Pawn once again bent a knee.

"I crown thee, Tourmaline," the Black Queen's voice intoned, "Queen-Consort of the Black Dominion, Lady of Darkwater Keep, Champion of the Crown. Rise."

The Pawn felt the circlet set about her head, and rose—no longer a Pawn.

"There will be time for a proper Coronation later," Onyx said, "when we have felled the White King, and taken back what is ours."

"Ours."

"Yours and mine, my love."

"And the Black King?"

Onyx waved a hand. "You know as well as I—and as well as he—that the King is but a figurehead in our domain. It is a Queen's power and a Queen's duty to defend the throne—as it is to rule." Gracile fingers caressed Tourmaline's face, and the Queen's lips met hers in an impassioned kiss.

"Forgive me, my dear Tourma, but I must depart," Onyx said at last, drawing her hood up over her head. "We ride to battle at dawn."

"Yourself with the vanguard."

"And your contingent to flank."

"They will expect me," said Tourmaline.

A smile danced on Onyx's lips. "They will not expect a Queen."


End file.
